


Fair Play

by dreamsofspike



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 08:06:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3112316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/pseuds/dreamsofspike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The King of Hell might not be able to control Dean Winchester... but he still has ways of getting what he wants. </p>
<p>Content: mild D/s, rough consensual play, jealous/possessive behavior, top!Dean, demon!Dean</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fair Play

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twinsarein](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twinsarein/gifts).



Things aren’t exactly going according to plan.

 

He’s the bloody King, isn’t he? He should be in control – of the situation, of his brand new protégé who insists on doing whatever the hell he wants no matter what Crowley says…

 

Of his own bloody _feelings_.

 

One day he’ll make Moose pay for that. But today isn’t that day. Today, he’s reduced to trying to find ways to make Dean pay attention to him, like a lovesick school girl trying to turn the head of the high school quarterback. It’s pathetic, and humiliating, and bloody well _infuriating_ , but – well, there it is.

 

He’s the King of Hell, with infinite power at his disposal – and he’s bloody well _smitten_ with fucking _Dean Winchester._

 

And Dean – Dean doesn’t appear to give a damn.

 

Dean’s at the bar, downing his latest drink – Crowley lost count a couple of hours ago – and smiling that deceptively alluring smile at the pretty little brunette perched on the stool beside him. As Crowley watches, he says something that makes her laugh, and then shifts in a little closer to her, his hand sliding along the bar until his fingers brush against her bare arm.

 

He’s moving in for the kill – though not even close to as literally as Crowley wishes he would.

 

Well, two can play that little game. Crowley’s not going to sit around all night miserably pining as Dean chases after every pretty young thing that crosses his path. No, he has style, and class, and moves of his own that Dean’s never seen – and it isn’t long before he’s got the appreciative eye of an attractive redhead in her mid-thirties, with a sleek black dress and hands that keep reaching out for casual, flirtatious touches.

 

Dean never looks his way, never seems to notice – but it isn’t long before he finishes the drink in front of him, and says something to the girl beside him, something that wipes the smile from her face and makes her eyes go wide with shock. She snarls something bitter and angry at him, hurt in her eyes as she turns and stalks off.

 

Dean spins on his stool and gets to his feet, striding toward Crowley with a cool smile and purposeful steps. He grabs his arm, hard enough to hurt, and drags him out of his seat and toward the exit without a word – and Crowley suppresses a smile.

 

Dean shoves him, off balance, into their room, slamming the door behind them and stalking toward Crowley like a predator. Before Crowley can recover, Dean has swept his feet out from under him, sending him sprawling onto his back on the shoddy motel mattress. Then he pounces, strong fingers locked around Crowley’s wrists and pinning him to the bed, Dean’s knees on either side of Crowley’s hips, and a dangerous smile an inch from Crowley’s mouth.

 

“What’s the matter?” Crowley taunts him, enjoying the delicious thrill of danger that slides down his spine at the smoldering fury in Dean’s eyes. “I have to share, but you don’t, is that it?”

 

Dean’s mouth twitches slightly at the corner, his grip tightening until Crowley winces, and he leans in to whisper against Crowley’s ear, hushed and dark in a way that makes him shiver.

 

“ _Exactly_.”

 

He shuts up the indignant protest on the edge of Crowley’s lips, swallowing it up in a fierce, possessive kiss, and Crowley finds himself yielding, relaxing into the hold of Dean’s hands, the onslaught of his mouth, and surrendering completely. Dean rips Crowley’s shirt as he yanks it off of him, tossing it to the floor, rough hands grabbing at him, forcing submission that Crowley’s all too willing to give.

 

He’s the King, and he should be in control. And what Dean doesn’t understand is – he _is_.

 

Crowley smiles, closing his eyes and drinking in Dean’s focused attention, as Dean ruthlessly tears into him with fierce, possessive abandon.

 

Everything may not be going according to plan – but the King of Hell still knows how to get _exactly_ what he wants.


End file.
